Come What May
by FraidyCat01
Summary: After a devastating accident takes away the only person left that Ponyboy and Sodapop Curtis call family, they leave behind everything to go live in a foster home. And when they are adopted by the least likely of people, they find themselves beginning to question everything, including their identity, which they soon realize may not be as unbreakable as they both thought...
1. Chapter 1

_**Come What May **_

_**Chapter 1: Soda POV**_

**Hello, everyone! Thanks for reading one of my latest fanfics (I am currently in the middle of 4!). This one has been fun to write so far, and I would like to thank my friend BellaVision for giving me the plot idea :) **

I awoke to the sound of fists pounding on the door. At first, it sounded like only one set, but, the more I came to, the more the realization dawned on me that there was, in fact, many. I didn't hear any voices, but didn't have to listen twice to know that whoever was pounding on the door like that meant business, and wasn't going to leave until they got what they wanted. Another set of knocking made me jump.

_Great,_ I thought to myself, _those punks are going to wake up Pony!_ My little brother was already a light sleeper to begin with. The last thing he needed was to be woken up by Two-Bit and his accomplices. By then, this was who I presumed was responsible for the disturbance, as this wouldn't have been the first time Two-Bit had showed up at our house late at night, drunk as a pig. Sometimes, he even brought a friend or two along. I glanced at the clock, which informed me that it was just past 2 a.m. Sighing, I dragged myself off of the chair I had fallen asleep on, pressed the 'mute' button to silence the show I had been watching prior to falling asleep, and was about to walk to the door, when I heard a voice coming from the bedroom.

"Soda?"

I sighed. No sense in being quiet now. My little brother was already awake. Rubbing the sleep from his eyes, he walked over to me, still clumsy from sleeping.

"What's going on?" Ponyboy squinted when I turned on the hallway light. We both made our way to our front door.

"Nothin'," I told him, yawning, "Probably just Two-Bit or something." Ponyboy laughed. I managed a smile too. However, little did we both know that we were very wrong. Unlocking it, I opened it to find a middle-aged man staring solemnly back at us. A second man stood next to him, looking equally as glum.

"Are you Sodapop and Ponyboy Curtis?" He asked us in a gruff voice.

"Yeah," I responded, cautiously.

"Duh," Ponyboy said softly. I elbowed him lightly in the ribs. I expected him to say something, or at least hiss an "ow!" at me, but instead, he said nothing, which, for him, was very odd. I looked over, and saw he wasn't paying attention to me, but to the men. He was staring at them, eyes wide. He looked pale. At first, I had no clue as to what would make him act like this, and thought maybe that he was just tired. I was about to suggest he go back to bed, when my eyes wandered to the two men as well. My heart fell down to my feet. The two men wore the navy uniforms of the Tulsa police officers.

"Is everything okay?" I asked. Now that I figured out they were the fuzz, the sad looks they wore began to creep me out. To my dismay, the two men shook their heads.

"I'm afraid we have some very bad news for you boys," the one who wore a gold star bearing the word "chief" said. He looked both me and Pony in the eyes before he went on, "It is to both of our great regret, that on this night, at precisely 1:30 a.m., your brother, Darrel, was involved in a three-way crash that took place just Northeast of Tulsa. He was killed on impact, and was far from our help by the time we got there. I'm very, very sorry."

Ponyboy made a sound halfway between a gasp and a choke. I said nothing, and instead stared at the chief, waiting for a sign on his face that indicated that this was all just a cruel joke and that Darry was actually just on his way home from that movie he went to see with some old friends of his. But, nothing but sympathy and sorrow were present on the man's face, so, slowly, reality kicked in, and I felt my knees turn to jelly beneath me. I kept my face as straight as possible, not wanting to cry in front of the fuzz, but Ponyboy broke down immediately, and I felt my heart break a little more with each sob that wracked its way through his body.

"We'll take you to the scene, if you boys want," one of the officers told us, "That way, you'll be able to collect any personal belongings that may have been in the car." I has hit with the realization that I had left my leather jacket in the backseat, but couldn't bring myself to care. Not when my older brother was gone, never to come back. I looked at Ponyboy, who was still crying, just not as hard as before. He nodded slightly. I looked at the chief.

"Okay," I told him, in a voice that threatened to break down, "We'll go."

"Right this way, then." He gestured to his police car, which sat, idling in front of our house. I motioned for Ponyboy to follow. He came timidly out the door, and walked beside me.

"Did it have to be a car crash?" he asked me through tear-filled eyes. I understood exactly what he meant by this. It seemed like just yesterday that two police officers showed up at our door, announcing the death of our parents—by car crash. Only this time was different. Last time, Pony and I didn't have to go through it alone. Last time, we had Darry. Darry. I stifled a sob. Yes, this time, and from this day on, things were going to be very different.

**Well? Are you all liking it so far? I know it's not much, but I just needed an intro to the plotline. Thanks for reading, and don't forget to leave a review! **


	2. Chapter 2

_**Chapter 2: Ponyboy POV**_

**Thank you to everyone who left a review, or added this story to their favourites, or who is following this story. You guys are amazing! Hope you like this chapter! Don't forget to leave a review! Enjoy! :) BTW, Dally and Johnny are alive. Just makes things easier for later events.**

_Two weeks later:_

"Ponyboy, time to wake up. It's breakfast time." I felt my brother shaking me lightly by the shoulder. I groaned.

"Not now, Soda," I moaned, half asleep, "Five more minutes."

"You said that five minutes ago." Sodapop told me, a mix of humour and faint annoyance in his voice. I felt his grip leave my shoulders, and heard the patter of his feet on the thin carpet. Seconds later, the curtain concealing the morning sunlight was pushed aside, and sunlight streamed into the room, making me groan louder and pull the blankets over my eyes in a vain attempt to block out the unwanted light. I didn't want to get up. Not now. Not since I had had a particularly pleasant dream about a time when things were _normal_. A time where police didn't come knocking at your door in the middle of the night, telling you and your brother that your life was about to drastically change forever. Telling you that your big brother was never coming home again. No, my dream was normal.

Events of the past two weeks came hurling back to me. If I concentrated real hard, I could remember every detail of that godforsaken night. I remembered how over and over again, the police and the family councillor who showed up (and who smelled faintly of lemon tea) kept telling Sodapop and me how sorry they were, and how the loss of Darry (oh, God, how it hurt to even _think_ his name) was greatly affecting the entire community, and all that mushy stuff. I barely even paid attention when things like that were going on. To me, everything everyone said, every sympathetic message, was nothing more than words. Every tear that fell from social workers', or policemen's, or complete strangers' eyes were fake. They meant nothing to me. What did they have to be sad about? They still had their families. They all had children that rushed up to them after they came home from work. They still had wives who cooked them nice meals. They still had parents, and friends who loved them. I had just lost one of the last people left on the planet who cared about me. Darry wasn't a hero. Sure, he was one in Soda and my eyes, but he didn't go out of his way to help out in the community. He was just another Greaser who had to give up his dreams to support his brothers. He meant nothing to anyone who wasn't in our gang. Which was why whenever people came up to me, and told me how sad they were, I just did my best to block them out. I didn't need their sympathy. Real or not real, it still meant nothing to me. Why were they sad? They had everything. All I had was Soda.

I groaned again when I realized how incredibly selfish I sounded. _All I had was Soda?_ What was the matter with me? Without Soda, I had absolutely no clue where I'd be. And I also had the gang. Two-Bit and Steve had been calling like crazy, but the secretary put the idea that Sodapop and I weren't ready to talk to anyone yet in her mind. Man, she was wrong! Ever since the social workers came and put Soda and me in this orphanage, I've wanted nothing more than to talk to my friends.

Oh, yeah, I forgot to mention the fact that Sodapop and I were put into an orphanage. Since Sodapop was still under the age of eighteen, and thus, wasn't legally qualified to be my guardian, we were brought to a home where we were to stay until another family came and adopted us. The thought still sickened me. Another thing was that we were discouraged to use the word "orphanage" to describe our new living quarters, as the head of the house, Miss. Ross, thought it to be "too negative". "You're in a wonderful environment that gives children and teens alike a chance at starting a new, fresh life," she'd told me, "Why use such a negative word?" She told us to call it a "foster home", as if that's any better. Great first impression, huh?

Living at the foster home isn't horrible. The reason Soda and I have to live here is bad, but everyone here is nice. Sodapop and I just stick close together, and generally avoid everyone else whenever possible, and none of the other kids bother with us. The foster home is for both boys and girls. The girls can't get enough of Soda, which under any other circumstances, I would have teased him mercilessly about. But lately, I haven't been in the "teasing" type of mood. In fact, I hardly have shown any emotion at all during the past couple weeks. There really wasn't any purpose. No amount of crying was going to bring Darry back. I learned that real quick.

"Ponyboy! Will you just get up already?" Sodapop's impatient, demanding voice brought me back to reality. I sighed, and then reluctantly rolled out of bed. It wouldn't do anyone any good if Sodapop died of impatience, so I figured I might as well obey him. As soon as I got out of bed, I rubbed my eyes, attempting to adjust them to the bright morning light. Then, I reached into my worn, leather suitcase and pulled out the first shirt my hand touched. It was navy blue, and had a small rip at the bottom. I didn't care. I pulled it over my head, and then picked out my jeans in a similar fashion. After I was dressed, I called out to Soda, who was washing his hands as he had just gone to the bathroom (oh, and that's another thing that makes our room somewhat better to live in; it has its own bathroom). He managed a faint smile at me from the mirror, and then stepped out of the bathroom, where he got to look at me more closely. His eyes rested on my hair.

He smirked. "Hey, bed-head!"

My hand shot immediately to my hair. I moaned when I felt it sticking up in every creative way possible. My hair had always been a source of pride for me. I was the most sensitive about my looks than any other Greaser I knew, and although the gang thought it was a hoot, I always took great care in making sure it looked good. Soda saw my vain attempts to flatten my hair and grinned.

"It's the breakfast table, not the royal ball." he told me peevishly. For a moment, a mischievous twinkle flickered in his eyes, and I felt my heart give a hopeful, but painful lurch. Ever since Darry's accident, something changed in Soda. He hardly ever smiled, and never made eye-contact with anyone anymore. The social workers said he just needed time, but I knew better. A small part of Sodapop died with Darry, and that hurt me almost as much as Darry's death. So, now, seeing that sparkle in Sodapop's eyes gave me some hope: maybe there was a way we could move on in life, and just get back to the way things were before. I rather doubted it, but it was still fun to dream about.

"Soda, pass me that comb, will you?" I decided going down to breakfast with hair that looked like it had been through a hurricane was out of the question. Sodapop made a noise halfway in between a sigh and a laugh before reaching over to the small, two-person table in the corner of our room, and passing me the black comb that sat on it. I ran it through my hair a couple of times, and Sodapop literally had to drag me away from the mirror, insisting that we had to go. Usually Soda isn't so uptight about things like time and schedules, but the foster home has a very strict policy about when to come to breakfast, when chores were, and when the rest of the meals were. The time table that hung right by our door indicated that breakfast was at nine o'clock sharp. It ended half an hour later. I looked at my watch. It read eight fifty seven. We had plenty of time. Sort of. When I tried telling Soda this, he rolled his eyes, and dragged me out the door. I think that part of the reason why Sodapop was so anxious to get to breakfast was because I had a suspicion that he was a bit sweet on Miss. Ross. She couldn't have been more than eighteen or nineteen, tall, with thick, wavy, blonde hair and blue eyes. Ever since coming here, Sodapop always went out of his way to impress her, meaning he was never late for anything and always behaved himself. With Soda, that's saying something. I myself thought Miss. Ross was pretty, but way too phony, and a little young to be running a foster home all by her lonesome. Then again, the age range for this particular home was one to seventeen, so I guess it all worked out.

"Slow down, Lover-Boy!" I told Soda. There was nothing like running at the pace of lightning at nine in the morning. Sodapop turned to look at me, a stunned expression on his face.

"What did you say?" he asked, bewildered.

"Nothing much." I said. I figured Sodapop _not _knowing would be much funnier than him figuring out I knew about his secret liking to Miss. Ross.

"No, but…you said something about-" Sodapop began, but stopped when we reached the doorway to the kitchen.

Long, wooden tables sat in rows. The benches that were attached to each table were all occupied with a bunch of children, all of whom were eating pancakes and eggs made by either Miss Ross, or whoever else made the meals.

Soda and I slunk in, saying a silent prayer that no one noticed us. Miss. Ross was a perfectionist when it came to things like schedules, and she wouldn't exactly jump for joy when she saw how late Sodapop and I were. Luckily, she was busying herself with pouring a crying kid some orange juice, and so we were able to just merge in with the kids sitting at the table closest to the door. A plate of pancakes was there to greet me, and I dug in, forgetting how hungry I was until I took the first bite. Within seconds, I was done the top two pancakes on the stack. I looked up to see Sodapop watching me with an amused look on his face.

"What?" I asked him. My mouth was full of pancake, so I earned myself a very disproving look from the girl sitting beside me (the table aren't organized by gender or age or anything of that sort, so everyone can just sit wherever they want to).

"Jeez, Pony," Sodapop said, his face full of humour, "The way you eat, they'd think they don't ever feed you!"

"They don't." I said. I was part joking and part absolutely-dead-serious. It was true; this orphanage—I mean foster home—wasn't exactly the richest place ever on Earth, so the meals were something you earned. If your behaviour was exceptional, then you were guaranteed three meals that day. If not, then you'd get served last, if you got any food at all. And Sodapop and I weren't known for our gold-star behaviour back home, and things here weren't much different. Most of the time, we were too busy moping around to cause mischief, but there were these rare occasions when switching everyone's socks around, or putting a frog I'd caught in the pond behind the home in Miss. Ross's slippers seemed like a riot. Those times were becoming more and more frequent, and so, the number of meals I ate in a day dropped. Of course, Soda, being the high-and-mighty girl-charmer he was, pretended he didn't know me whenever I acted out around Miss. Ross. Heaven forbid someone saw him with a juvenile delinquent such as myself. I didn't care. The fact that Sodapop was even interested in a girl in the first place proved he was trying to move on. Same with me and my pranks. We both had different ways of trying to get things back to normal, but in the end, the results would be the same. I glared at Sodapop when I realized he was still grinning at my eating habits.

"Well, just because _you're_ trying to impress a certain-someone, doesn't mean I have to act like an angel too!" I said, frowning. Sodapop's eyes went wide.

"Ponyboy, what on _Earth_ are you—" he fell silent when a hand tapped his shoulder. Since he was sitting across from me, I immediately saw it was Miss Ross, her golden hair reflecting the light. She _was _pretty, I saw. Just too old, and not my type. Her hand rested on Sodapop's shoulder and he spun around, his face turning a very peculiar shade of pinkish-red when he saw who wanted his attention. He cleared his throat.

"Uh…hello, Miss. Ross." He said, his voice raising a couple octaves (something that happened whenever he got nervous), "It there, uh, anything I can help you with?"

I laughed into my juice glass, spraying my chin with orange juice in the process. Soda acting sophisticated cracked me up. He always acted ridiculous whenever he was trying to impress a girl, and this was no exception. Soda kicked me hard in the shins under the table, in an urge to get me to be quiet. However, this only made me laugh more, and soon enough, I was coughing juice up. The girl beside me wished me luck in finding a wife in the future, before scooting over, away from me. I winked at her sarcastically. Miss, Ross gave me a weird look before addressing both Sodapop and me.

"Boys," She began (Needless to say, Soda's face fell a little on being addressed like a child), "If you two could come to my office immediately, there's something I need to show you." She smiled, showing all of her perfectly-straight teeth. Soda flushed even darker, if that was possible, before standing up.

"Of course, Miss. Ross." He said. He then gave me a look that said "Stand up now, and please don't say anything embarrassing!" How he knew me well. It wasn't that I didn't like Miss. Ross. It was just that she wasn't anything close to my guardian, and thus, I didn't think of her as someone who had any control over my actions. Plus, also, everything from the way she dressed, to the way her carried herself was phony. It was as if she simply skipped all those years where girls were supposed to dress in those skimpy dresses, and flirt with every guy in town, and where normal nineteen-year-olds were cheerleader captains, instead of orphanage owners. Long story turned short, she grew up way too fast. Which led to another reason why I wasn't going out of my way to obey her: she reminded me too much of Darry.

"Ponyboy, are you coming?" Miss. Ross's high, cheerful voice brought me back to reality.

"Where?" I asked. Soda shot me an annoyed look.

"To my office, silly!" Miss. Ross laughed, as if that was actually supposed to be funny. "There's something I want to show you. Or should I say 'there's _someone_ I'd like to show you.'"

Sodapop and I exchanged a look.

"Err…Okay." Soda said, and I think that was the first time ever that I had seen him give Miss. Ross a look that wasn't one of complete adoration or embarrassment. Sodapop was actually confused.

"Well then, let's go!" Miss. Ross exclaimed, and she motioned for us to follow her out of the dining room and down the long hallway. Of course, being the lucky person that I was, Miss. Ross's office was all the way on the other side of the foster home (which happened to be quite large), so I spent the next ten minutes walking down the long, musty hallways of the orphanage, with nothing to admire but the faded flowered wallpaper that was plastered carelessly on the walls, and a few paintings, one of which was of a sunset, which made me happy. And after what seemed like years, we reached the wooden door of Miss. Ross's office. It was closed, concealing what Miss. Ross wanted to show us, adding to the suspense. Miss. Ross turned to face us.

"Boys," she said, flashing us one of her dazzling grins, "I would like to introduce you to two very important people." When neither Soda nor I replied, Miss. Ross went on, "These two individuals have kindly agreed to adopt you. They said they have had experience with children your age in the past, and that they are looking forward to their future with you. So, without further ado, Ponyboy, Sodapop," Miss Ross opened the door to her office, and gestured us inside, "I want you to meet your new foster parents, Julie and Rob Sheldon!"

**Haha, cliff-hanger! I'll try and update as soon as I can. I'm sorry if my editing isn't the best for this chapter. I finished it like 5 minutes ago, and decided to just post it. I didn't want to keep you all waiting! **

**Thanks for reading! Please leave a review, as reviews inspire me. I received so many great reviews for the first chapter, and they all made my day, especially since I have had a very busy week. So, if you like my story so far, please let me know by leaving a review. I'll also take constructive criticism, especially if it involves character personalities, as I'm not sure how I did. Thanks! **

**P.S. For all you iCarly lovers, I just watched iGoodbye online, and I cried so much! I've been watching iCarly ever since I was in like grade 4 or 5, and it was just so sad to see it end :( That had absolutely NOTHING to do with my fanfic, but I just thought I should put it out there :P**


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

**Hello, everyone! Sorry for the wait, as writing time has been hard to find lately. My teachers, particularly my math and my science ones, think giving me four hours of homework a night is a wonderful idea, so needless to say, I've been very busy. Plus, also, I've had midterms over the past couple weeks! Eww. Please leave a review. This chapter is short, and I apologize for that, but honestly, I'm happy I even had time to write it. :P **

"WHAT?!" I demanded. A glance at Soda told me he was just as shocked as I was about our new "guardians". Miss Ross looked confused.

"Is there something wrong?" she asked.

"Yes, there's something wrong!" I snapped, "They _can't _be our new guardians! They just _can't_ be!" Miss Ross gave me a shocked look.

"Ponyboy!" she hissed, "They're _right there_!"

"That's the problem!" I shouted. Sodapop put a hand on my shoulder.

"Pony, relax," he whispered to me, "There's probably just been a mix-up." He was obviously going for a more relaxed approach to the whole situation, which annoyed me.

"Oh, yeah, because they really came for the _other_ Ponyboy and Sodapop Curtis, is that right?" I snapped back in a mixture of panic and sarcasm. With a sigh, Soda turned to Miss Ross. He pulled her to the side, away from Mr. and Mrs. Sheldons' earshot, and luckily, not from mine.

"I think you've made a mistake," Sodapop began in a polite but forceful tone. "You see, Pony and I know those two people, and we don't think they'd want to adopt us."

"Yes, I thought it was an odd pairing," Miss Ross said thoughtfully, "But you know, everything always works out in the end with adoptions. That's what's so great about foster homes!"

"No, I'm serious," Sodapop insisted, "I really don't think letting us go with the Sheldons is a good idea."

"Oh, don't be silly!" Miss Ross said, "I've been talking to them for the past half-hour. There couldn't be more dedicated, suitable parents anywhere. And they have a boy your age, too!"

"Had." I corrected, cutting into their conversation. Miss Ross looked at me in confusion.

"Excuse me?"

"They _had_ a boy our age." I continued, ignoring the disapproving glare from Soda. Why he was angry that I interrupted a conversation that was obviously going nowhere, I don't know. Deciding to ignore my brother completely, I proceeded to tell Miss Ross about the Sheldons' son. "They had a son named Bob Sheldon, but he died last year…under mysterious circumstances." I added to cease suspicion. I figured that leaving out the fact that I had more to do with those "mysterious circumstances" than I liked to think about wouldn't hurt Miss Ross.

"Oh." Miss Ross scrunched her face up in confusion, "Well, they didn't mention anything about _that_." Her face lit up, "But I guess it's all the more reason to adopt two teenaged boys like you and Ponyboy—to make up for their rather unfortunate loss."

"Yeah…_no_." I cut in. Miss Ross glared at me, the meanest I had ever seen her look since coming here (which, really, isn't saying much).

"Ponyboy, you and your brother are being absolutely ridiculous!" she sighed, "Mr. and Mrs. Sheldon are very nice, suitable people to adopt you, and every single one of the children back in the dining room would kill for a chance to get adopted! Quit being so selfish!"

"Well then give some of the other children to the Sheldons!" I snapped, "Just not me and Soda!"

"_Soda _and _me_!" Miss Ross corrected. Ever since I came here, that woman took the impossible task upon herself to perfect my grammar. It was annoying. Despite things, I smiled real sweetly at Miss Ross.

"Please don't make us go." I said real quiet, jutting my lower lip out in a pouting face. It worked on mom and dad real well when I was younger. Miss Ross, however, looked unimpressed.

"Very cute," she said flatly, "But, boys, my mind is made up. You're leaving with the Sheldons, and that is that! You'll find your suitcases already packed, and waiting for you in the front entrance. Now, go over and meet your new parents! I'll be right back."

"But, we already know them-" I protested, but Miss Ross interrupted me by slamming the door in a manner that suggested that any argument I had was invalid from now on. I sighed. "You dumb Soc!" I added, completing my sentence, mostly for personal gain. Soda laughed, a pitiful sound that sounded halfway between a laugh and a sigh.

"Nice." He said flatly.

"I'm just sad she wasn't here to hear it." I mumbled on response.

"Just watch what you say about Socs, boy!" A gruff voice barked from behind me. I jumped. I turned around just in time to find myself face-to-face with Robert Sheldon. His cold, icy-blue eyes reminded me so much of Darry that I almost cried. But, other than the eyes, my new "guardian" was nothing like Darry. Instead of Darry's greasy, brown curls, Robert had a short, dignified, salt-and-pepper cut that reminded me somehow of a soldier. He was very broad-shouldered, and looked like he would gladly squish me to a pulp if given the chance. Something told me that sooner or later, he would try.

"Sorry, sir." I said, for lack of better things to say. Best to get on his good side now, I figured. Robert didn't break eye contact with me the entire time I studied his face. That worried me.

"Watch what you say about Socs," Robert said again, "Because soon enough, you're going to _be_ one!"

"What?" I squeaked.

"You heard him, boy!" Julie Sheldon cut in, "I mean, you two _honestly_ didn't think we were going to live with two _Greasers_, did you?" she shuddered, as if the mere idea made her want to be sick.

"Well," I said, "By adopting us, we kinda thought that you would-"

"Enough!" Julie snapped, making me flinch in surprise. Upon seeing my reaction, she snickered.

"Oh, I'm sorry," she said in a mock-friendly, not-sorry voice, "Are you not used to being shouted at? Does the little Greaser not like when I raise my voice?" Her sneer widened as she continued, her tone pure ice, "Well, guesses what? You're gonna have to get used to it, kid. Because the way Rob and I run things may be a little…different from what you and your brother are used to."

"Different?" I asked, a sense of heavy dread washing over me.

"Oh, yes… different!" Mrs. Sheldon sneered, getting so close to me that our noses could have touched, "Yes, from now on, things are going to be _very_ different!"

**Thanks for reading! Again, sorry about the length. Don't forget to review, and I'll update as soon as I can. I can't make any promises that the next chapter will be up any time soon, as I need to keep on studying for the dreaded midterms. Gross. I'll try and work writing my fanfics into my schedule as best as I can, but just be prepared that I may not update this—or any of my other fanfics—until a couple of weeks from now. Sorry! Midterms suck :P**


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

**Hey, good news! Midterms are obviously over, and I aced all of my exams! Thank you to all those who reviewed/followed/added this story to their favourites! You are all amazing, and I appreciate the support. 3**

**Oh, and before we go on, I just thought you all should know about the** **Outsiders TV series. ****It was produced by the 1983 film's director Francis Ford Coppola, and aired from March to July 1990 on Fox, and continues from where the novel left off. I was super excited when I found it, and I thought that some of you would be as well (if you didn't already know about it). If you want to watch the pilot, the entire series is on YouTube. Ok, now on with the story! **

**Disclaimer: I don't own **_**The Outsiders**_**, or any of the Greasers. That credit goes to the awesome S.E. Hinton. Thank you, S.E. Hinton for giving me the best grade 8 year ever (as that was the novel study I did when I was in grade 8)! I own all the made-up characters in this story (Miss Ross, Robert Sheldon, Julie Sheldon, and possibly more in later chapters).**

You know that feeling you get when you know something is going to go horribly wrong? You wish you would just disappear into the ground so you wouldn't have to watch what would be the results of something awful? Well, for those of you that don't know what I'm talking about, it's called dread, and most people I ask say they've experienced it at least once in their lives. I sometimes get it before I take a test I haven't studied for. Or before I run in a track competition. Or when I lie. Soda probably used to have it all those nights when he snuck out with Sandy (unknown to Darry).

Well, I had that feeling now. Now, as I sat in the leather seats that made up the back of the Sheldons' car, with the orphanage where Sodapop and I had spent the past couple weeks of our lives slowly transforming into a tiny speck in the distance, I couldn't rid myself of the awful feeling that sometime soon, things were going to go horribly wrong.

And why wouldn't they? Give me one good reason why I shouldn't be dreading the events that were to unfold (and that were currently unfolding) over the next couple of days. Can't think of any, can you? I didn't think so. So, yeah, as I sat beside Soda in the Sheldons' car, watching the orphanage disappear out the back window, I wished I could sink into the luxurious, leather seats that screamed of the Sheldons' wealth, and just disappear.

Neither Sodapop nor I even bothered to try and make conversation with the two adults sitting in the front of the car. Why would we? We both knew their answers would just involve a lot of snapping and intimidating statements and questions, so we both kept our mouths shut. Instead, I kept myself amused by stealing glances at the Sheldons whenever I thought they weren't looking. I'd stare at them in the mirror that hung on the ceiling of the car, trying to get a feel for them. Mostly, they'd just stare straight ahead, their faces unreadable masks of stone. Other times, Mrs. Sheldon would lean over to Mr. Sheldon and whisper a few words (about us, no doubt), and he would nod, or on rare occasions, reply back, either with words, or indistinct grunts. I figured that this wasn't really a good way to get a feel for their personalities, but at least it gave me something to do. Sometimes I'd look at the wrong time and find Mr. Sheldon's cold, blue eyes staring back at me. Other times, I saw the beady, brown ones that belonged to Mrs. Sheldon. I'd quickly look away, suddenly taking a particular interest in my feet, only to look up again a few seconds later. I played this "game" for pretty much the entire car ride. Sodapop, on the other hand, just stared out the window, not saying anything. I really wanted to talk to him, and ask if he was alright, but I was afraid of what the Sheldon's would do. Did they have a strict "no talking" policy? I didn't know, and I didn't want to find out the consequences if the answer was "yes". So, instead, I gave Soda's foot a little nudge with mine. Without looking, he nudged me back, and I knew he was fine. It was something we always did when we wanted to communicate, but talking was inappropriate. Sometimes, we did it when Darry was yelling at us at the dinner table about something. Just a quick kick to the other's foot or leg. It was sort of like a secret signal we had. In some cases, it meant that we were alright, or that whatever was going on was extremely funny, but that we couldn't laugh. We also did it when we wanted each other's attention. In this case, it was a combination of all three, although I couldn't think of a reason why anything was funny. I guess it was just the long silence. Silences make me jittery.

I looked over at Soda, and saw him smiling slightly. It was this that caused me to spare a grin too. And even though Soda and I were being pushed into a completely unfamiliar and scary new life, I smiled for the rest of the car ride. I savoured that smile because I wasn't sure how long it would be before I stopped smiling.

I wasn't sure how much longer it would be before I forgot _how_.

**Hope you liked it! Sorry that it's short. Although midterms are over, I still have a ton of stuff to do, particularly in science. Do any of you know how to build a solar-powered car? Haha, anyway, please review, and let me know what you think, or if you have any plot/character suggestions. Hopefully I'll update soon. **

**P.S. In the comments, if you end up watching any of the episodes, let me know which one you liked best! Bye! **


	5. Chapter 5

**Hello, everyone! Wow, with how long it took me to update this, you all probably thought I'd forgotten about it. Never fear, I would never let you guys down like that. I've just been really busy with life over the past couple of months. A lot has changed for me, and I am trying to balance everything from piano, to singing in my band, to archery. But, I **_**did**_** remember to write this, as I can't imagine myself ever forgetting about writing. So yeah, Chapter 5 of **_**Come What May **_**is finally here!**

**Also, I'm really happy because right now, I'm currently enjoying a magical time of my life called SUMMER VACATION! Yep, that's right, no more homework, no more projects, and no more tests that force you to turn your focus from writing stories to subjects that you're never going to need in your later life. Haha I'm exaggerating, but seriously, I am **_**stoked **_**that summer is finally here. I didn't have a great grade nine year in terms of homework, and I am so ready for a change (high school!). **

**Anyway, thank you to all those who reviewed my last chapter, and please continue to review, as reviews inspire me to update ;) **

**DISCLAIMER: (and this counts for all my previous chapters too) I do not own "**_**The Outsiders**_**". That credit goes out to the incredibly talented S.E. Hinton. I own any characters I make up, however. **

**WARNING: some language.**

Apparently I fell asleep. I came to realize this when I heard a shrill voice yelling at me, and then felt a hand gently shaking me awake. It took me a while to process what was going on, as it was clear that the nasty voice and the gentle hand belonged to two different people. And since I didn't feel like opening my eyes at the moment, I played a small guessing game with myself. After a few seconds of good pondering, I came to the conclusion that Mrs. Sheldon was the one yelling at me, and that my brother, Soda, was the one using a gentler method to wake me up. I figured I was correct, as it wouldn't make sense if it was the other way around, so it was for Soda's sake that I opened my eyes. What I saw wasn't particularly pleasant.

Mr. and Mrs. Sheldon were leaning over me, looking at me in a way that made me feel like an insect. Mrs. Sheldon's beady eyes were practically closed because of the way she glared at me. When she saw that I was no longer asleep, she tossed her hair impatiently.

"Finally!" She exclaimed, "With the way you were sleeping, I thought you were dead." Something about the tone of her voice irritated me to no end. It was suggesting that she _wanted_ me to die, and that it aggravated her that I hadn't. I sat fully up and glared at her.

"You would have liked that, wouldn't you?" I snapped. Soda elbowed me hard in the ribs, and I yelped, reducing the impact of my glare. Mrs. Sheldon looked at me in pure disgust, but if she wanted to say something, she didn't get the chance. A small _ding_ interrupted her. Seven _dings_, to be exact. I looked around in vain, trying to find a source. I wasn't successful. It was almost as if the noise was coming from…

"Did your neck just _beep_?" Sodapop asked Mrs. Sheldon, speaking my thoughts aloud. Mrs. Sheldon regarded Soda with pure repulsion.

"If you mean my _necklace_," she said, emphasizing the word 'necklace' in a mocking way that made me mad, "then yes. It's a tiny watch that rings every hour like a grandfather clock." She regarded her necklace with a selfish pride before briefly showing it to Sodapop and me. Indeed, like Mrs. Sheldon told us, at the end of a silver chain, there was a tiny analog clock with roman numerals that was quite clearly the source of the noise I had heard.

"How so very pointless." I commented dryly. Whether it was because I hated the Sheldons, or because I grew up poor and was taught to only buy things that would be of great use to me, I didn't see the point in Mrs. Sheldon having a grandfather clock hanging from her neck when she probably had like three more inside her house. Mrs. Sheldon ignored my comment, which was probably a good thing on my part.

"Oh, look at that!" Mrs. Sheldon exclaimed in frustration, glancing at her silver necklace, "It's practically dinnertime! It took _so_ long driving to and from that godforsaken orphanage! Honestly," she said, addressing Soda and me, "you could've picked one closer to our home!"

"Sorry," I told her coolly, "We'll keep that in mind for next time." Mrs. Sheldon pursed her lips, but said nothing. Sodapop nudged me with his elbow; a signal that told me to calm down. I scowled at the ground. I didn't see why _I_ was the one that needed to calm down when Mrs. Sheldon was the one going on about the location of our foster home—something way beyond our control. She probably knew it, too, and just said it to push my buttons. Suddenly, I wished I was back at the orphanage. At least Miss Ross didn't completely despise us. Many things she was, but never mean. Sure, she didn't go out of her way to talk to us, or show an excessive amount of affection towards us, but at least was better than the two cold-hearted Socs glaring down at me right now.

I realized a little too late that Mrs. Sheldon was asking me a question. And because I have the worst luck in the world, I was too busy daydreaming, and didn't hear a word of what she said.

"What?" I asked stupidly. Mrs. Sheldon looked absolutely disgusted.

"Well, it looks like we'll have to work on your manners now, as well." She sneered, "I was _asking_ you if you and your brother liked salmon because that's what I've ordered Claire to make for us. Claire is our servant, by the way. You are to ignore her completely, and are _not_ to talk to her."

"Oh," I said, still trying to wrap my head around the fact that Sodapop and I now had a _servant_, "Um, yeah, salmon is fine."

"I thought so." Mrs. Sheldon's tone was cold. Then, turning to her husband, she said "I'm going to go see if she is finished. I told her to have the table set and a dinner for four prepared by the time we got back. I also told her to have Ponyboy and Sodapop's rooms made before we got back as well, but I am almost positive she hasn't gotten to that yet." Mrs. Sheldon's tone was one of repulsion, as if the mere thought of the girl sickened her. I, on the other hand, was wondering how one girl could _possibly_ get all that done in less than four hours, and immediately felt sorry for this girl, Claire.

"If that's the case, then she can go without dinner." Mr. Sheldon told his wife. "She can prepare the rooms while we eat." The man then walked away, opening the gate to what I presumed was the backyard, and stepping inside. The gate slammed behind him.

"Agreed." Julie Sheldon said to no one in particular, and unlocked the door to the house. After wiping her feet thoroughly on the mat outside the door, she stepped inside. I could hear her yelling for Claire even _after_ she shut the door. Soda turned to me and whistled low.

"Wow," he said staring at the door after Mrs. Sheldon, "Well, this'll be fun."

"Oh yeah, a complete blast." I snapped back. I really wasn't in the mood for any of Sodapop's comments, especially since Soda couldn't be serious if his life depended on it, and I hoped my tone showed it. My brother seemed to have gotten the message.

"I'm sorry, Pony." he told me, "I guess that's just my way of dealing with all this." He looked at me with a mixture of amusement and annoyance playing on his face, "It's better than _you're_ method, Pony. I can't _believe_ some of the things you said to the Sheldons!" His face took on a more serious tone as he went on, "You should really watch what you say around them, Pony," he said, "or they might split us up. And I don't mean keep us on opposite ends of the house, either. I mean give one of us back to the orphanage or something, and right now, the most important thing that either of us can do, is to stay together. I mean it, Pony. We've already lost Darry, and although I'll never in my whole entire life accept that he is gone, I know that I can learn from it. I've learned that sticking together is more important than ever now, and if you keep annoying the Sheldons like that, then-" Soda's voice cracked, and I realized with a jolt that he was _crying_. That was wrong. Sodapop should never have to cry. The only exception was when Darry died. I stepped towards him and almost subconsciously, I wrapped my arm around his shoulders. I was now officially tall enough to do so, and I leaned my head into Soda's shoulder.

"Then _what_?" I asked him, urging him to finish his sentence, even though I was pretty sure of the ended already.

"Then of _course_ they'll split us up." Soda whispered, confirming my guess. I said nothing. There was nothing I _could _say. Sodapop took a deep breath, and from the sound of it, he had quit crying. I was glad.

"Why _us_, Soda?" I asked into his shoulder, "Why is it _always_ us?" And for this, my brother had no answer.

ooOO88OOoo

Dinner was an uncomfortable mixture of awkward silences and frequent but secret signals between me and Soda. Because they were bent on making us as miserable as possible, the Sheldons placed Soda and me at opposite ends of the table. The table was far too long for our feet to touch, so we couldn't even do the foot nudging, so at last, we came up with the idea to use looks to communicate. If something was irritating me, I'd shoot Soda a look when the Sheldons weren't looking. His returning look would be firm but calm, telling me not to lose my cool, and to ignore whatever was bugging me. I did the same for him. It worked, and despite everything, I found myself beginning to relax. The food was amazing! Whoever Claire was, I really wanted to meet her, and thank her for the dinner. I almost said this out loud, but then remembered Mrs. Sheldon's words to me earlier on the driveway. _"Claire is our servant, by the way. You are to ignore her completely, and are not to talk to her." _she had said. The coldness in her voice when she had said this was enough to make me forget about my desire to thank Claire. I quickly checked Soda just in case he was shooting me a look, but he was engaged in his meal like I had been before I finished it, and didn't require my assistance at the moment. I had absolutely no clue what to do while I waited for everyone else to finish, so I pretended to be interested in the glass cup that held my water. Mine was green, which made me happy, as green was one of my favorite colors. Blue was the other. The shade of _this_ cup in particular was a pale, greenish-blue, almost like the color of ice, and it reminded me of something, but I couldn't recall what. I lazily scraped my fork on my plate; the high-pitched squeak was the only thing that kept me from dozing off. I hadn't realized that I was so tired until I was forced to sit down to dinner with _them_. I was about to excuse myself and retire to my new room (wherever it actually _was_), when a voice from the kitchen door interrupted me.

"Are you all finished?"

I turned around and had to physically force my mouth to keep from opening in shock. An attractive girl stood in the doorway.

Her hair was put up in a bun, but gold-spun curls spilled out on either side of her pale face, managing even at that small amount, to adorn her vibrant, porcelain-like skin. Her eyes, wreathed with long eyelashes, were a shocking, radiant blue, and although she wasn't smiling, they still shone, as if this was a permanent feature. The rest of her face was nothing to turn a nose up at either. A straight nose to compliment her high cheekbones, full lips, and a sharp chin—I was in awe. She was wearing the black dress and white apron of a house servant, and it fit her thin form well. Her height suggested that she was about my age. This must have been Claire.

"Claire," Mrs. Sheldon said, confirming my supposition, "I thought I told you to stay in the kitchen while we ate." Claire flushed a dark shade of red and curtseyed apologetically.

"Sorry, ma'am," she answered, not meeting Julie's eyes, "I was just wondering if any of you would like dessert." She fidgeted with the fringe on her apron as she spoke. She seemed to take no notice of either Soda or me.

"No, Claire," Julie appeared displeased, and I was beginning to wonder if the woman was capable of displaying any other emotion besides displeasure and anger, "I think we've all had enough. Am I right?" she asked, addressing everyone at the table. A curt nod from Mr. Sheldon and a reluctant "yes" from Sodapop confirmed the fact that we were done with our meal. I didn't give my opinion, but something told me that it wouldn't have mattered. Claire looked slightly relieved at the fact that she didn't have to prepare anything else, and I felt a twinge of sympathy for the girl. I didn't know how long she had been living with the Sheldons, but I had only been with them for half a day, and I already had had enough. To be their _servant_… I shuddered. Claire impatiently forced some of the loose curls behind her ear.

"How was your meal?" she asked, and I could detect a hint of pride behind her words, "I made it exactly how you told me to, and in a reasonable amount of time, if I may add." Mrs. Sheldon put her fork down on her plate, signifying that she was finished. Claire clearly expected an answer, but if I had been her, I wouldn't have bothered. Mrs. Sheldon clearly wasn't one to go dishing out compliments, but something told me that Claire knew that. So why did she ask Mrs. Sheldon her opinion on the food?

"It was overdone." Mrs. Sheldon replied, taking a sip of wine. Claire's shoulders fell, and she began fidgeting with her apron again.

"Beg your pardon, ma'am?" she asked. Mrs. Sheldon set down her glass carefully, and faced Claire.

"The salmon," she told Claire, "It was overcooked. The outside was completely burnt, and I found some parts to be inedible. How long did you cook it for?" Claire refused to meet anyone's eyes as she answered.

"I baked it in the oven for thirty minutes, ma'am." She told Mrs. Sheldon, who sighed in frustration.

"I _told_ you already: you have to cook the salmon for twenty five minutes, or it gets overdone. Goodness, child! You'd think you'd learn after what happened the last time you tried to cook salmon. What do you have to say for yourself?"

"I'm sorry." Claire stated, not looking directly at Mrs. Sheldon. Amazingly, her eyes still shone, and her voice showed no emotion at all, as if she didn't care at all what the woman thought of her. However, her posture showed different, and I wondered which feature to believe: her distracted, distant eyes, or her sad, disappointed stance. I figured that it couldn't get much worse for poor Claire, that Mrs. Sheldon had had her fun. Apparently not. Mrs. Sheldon wiped her thin lips with a napkin before turning her cold eyes to the girl.

"Now, apologize to our guests." She commanded. Claire turned to me.

"Sorry," she muttered. This was too much. It was bad enough that Mrs. Sheldon criticized a perfectly-fine meal that a teenaged girl had made and was actually proud of, but humiliating her in front of complete strangers? Sodapop and I had probably been intimidating enough to begin with, and now, we had been given a reason to make fun of the poor girl. I stood up.

"I liked it." I said. Immediately, all eyes in the room were on me, Mrs. Sheldon's boring into my back as I faced Claire. Claire raised her eyes to me in question.

"What?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper. Mrs. Sheldon cleared her throat, signaling me to return to my seat, and to shut up. I didn't know what the consequences for disobeying her were, but for the moment, I didn't care. I squared my shoulders knowing that what I was about to say would annoy Mrs. Sheldon beyond words.

"I thought your salmon was incredible." I told Claire. "You should be very proud of yourself. I couldn't whip up something like that if my life depended on it, and I _would_ have gone for dessert, but I was overruled because my opinion doesn't matter." I flashed her a smile, "My name is Ponyboy, by the way. Ponyboy Curtis." I reached out my hand. Claire hesitantly took it, and I shook her hand. Her eyes met mine, and I smiled, expecting her to return it. Instead, her eyes were cold, and she didn't smile a bit. She glared at me as I shook her hand, and then once I was done, she ripped our hands apart roughly. Strange. I just paid the girl a compliment, but with the way she was glaring at me, you'd think I'd just insulted her. I figured she was just in shock. I didn't blame her. I turned to face everyone at the table.

"If you don't mind," I began, "I think I'll be heading to bed. Thank you, Claire once again for the dinner, and goodnight, Mr. Sheldon. See you upstairs, Sodapop…that is, presuming that our rooms _are_ upstairs. And, Mrs. Sheldon…" I paused, wondering what I could possibly say to the women that would befit my feelings for her at the moment. "You spilled some gravy down the front of your dress. It looks like puke, which doesn't go with the lilac flowers at all. Good night, everyone." With my remarks still hanging in the air, I walked out of the dining room, and closed the door behind me.

That left me alone in the foyer. Standing there made me realize for the first time since I had stepped into this place that I had never really taken the time to take in my surroundings. Partially because I thought it was necessary, and partially because I had absolutely no clue where to go, I sat down on the wooden stool that was propped against a marble pillar outside the kitchen door, and began to look around. What I saw amazed me. White crown molding lined every wall and ceiling, and paintings lined the cream-colored walls, bringing a vibrant splash to the old-fashioned foyer. I stood up and walked over to the front door so I could view the inside of the house as if I had just walked in. The view from the chair was nothing compared to this. The floors were gleaming, ceramic tile, and two flights of spiral staircases went up to the second floor. Through the bars of the railing on the second floor, I thought I could see even more stairs, leading me to suspect that there was even a third floor. Behind the staircases, there was the door to the kitchen, and to my right, the living room. There was a grand, ebony piano in the centre of the room, and a ton of pricey items on shelves around it. I wondered who actually used the piano, as I didn't think that either of the Sheldons had any musical experience.

Although I wanted to keep looking around on the first floor, I remembered my declaration of going to bed, and even though I wasn't tired anymore, I still trudged up the closest staircase, and made my way to the second floor.

After I had climbed the last stair, I looked around once more. To my dismay, I saw that I was staring at at least a dozen doors, none of which were open. _Up for a little exploring?_ I asked myself. I reached the first door, and after opening it, saw that it wasn't a bedroom at all. Instead, a white washing machine stared back at me. Disappointed, I moved on to the next door. I was just turning the handle when I heard footsteps walking up the stairs.

"Unless you've come to wash that snazzy jean jacket of yours, or view the interior of Mr. Sheldon's exercise room, I think you've come to the wrong floor."

I turned around. Standing at the top of the stairs, still clad in dress and apron, was Claire. She was grinning at me smugly, and her bun had fallen out completely. Dirty-blonde curls spilled down to just past her shoulders, and framed her face in a way that made my knees feel funny. Her blue eyes, although still bright, watched me suspiciously. She cocked an eyebrow mockingly.

"Were you _spying_ on me?" I asked, appalled. Not that anything I had done had been scandalous, but still; the fact that Claire had been watching me made me feel uneasy and a little embarrassed. I hadn't even heard her following me. Claire laughed.

"Maybe you haven't quite wrapped your head around this fact yet," she said sarcastically, "but I live here. So it's quite normal to find me walking around in this house. So, to answer your question, no, I wasn't _spying_ on you. I was going to my room." She pointed to one of the only rooms that had its door open. Inside, I caught a glimpse of pink curtains, and a dresser with an assortment of bottles and brushes on it.

"Just as I suspected," I said embarrassed. Claire scoffed.

"I'm sure it was," she said, "But really, Ponyboy," she told me, glancing around, "this isn't where your room is. Not even close. Your room is on the third floor. Quite a walk from here, if I'm remembering the location correctly. At the rate you're going, you'll be doing good to find it before breakfast." She smiled slyly at me. "You know," she said, "_I_ could help you find your room. Think of it as an all-expense-paid tour of the house. What do you say?"

"Yeah, well, thanks but no thanks." I told Claire, "I think I can find my own way around. How hard can it be? And for the record, maybe I _wanted_ to view the interior of Mr. Sheldon's exercise room. Did you ever think of _that_?" I had just begun walking away, when I heard Claire laugh behind me.

"As cocky as you may be," she told me, "you're forgetting one thing: I've been living here way longer than you have, and I know my way around much better than someone who just came this evening. So unless you fancy wandering a dark mansion all night, then you'd best take my advice."

She was right. As much as I hated to admit it, Claire was right. Glancing at the clock mounted on the wall beside the laundry room, I saw that it was now about nine o'clock. If I wasted anymore time, then it was quite likely that I would be caught by the Sheldons. I looked at Claire, who stood, smiling smugly and waiting for my response.

"Fine!" I sighed.

ooOO88OOoo

We walked in silence at first, Claire staring straight ahead, her jaw clenched, and me, stealing glances at Claire when I thought she wasn't looking. She caught me, and I blushed and hurriedly occupied myself by trying to memorize all the different rooms we walked past in case doing so would be useful in the future. I was amazed at the variety of rooms I saw. A lot of the doors we passed were closed, but the ones that were opened were a shocking assortment of spare bedrooms, studies, and to my surprise and delight, a library. I made a mental note to come back to it in the morning.

We came to a fork in the hallway. Claire stopped and I almost crashed into her, but quickly covered up my mistake by half-leaning, half-falling into the wall. However, instead of my hand hitting the flowered wallpaper like I expected, my hand hit something hard and smooth. Turning my head in surprise, I found that I had landed on a picture frame, and that the hard smooth surface I had felt was the protective glass in front of a photo. Removing my hand, I saw that I had indeed landed on a photo. The smiling faces of Mr. and Mrs. Sheldon stared back at me, and in between the two of them stood a teenage boy with curly, straw-coloured hair. My heart pounded. It was Bob.

_Of course they'd have photos of him, _I told myself. After all, he _was_ their son and dead or alive, he was still a part of their family, and he probably wasn't a topic that the Sheldons were willing to let fade. Still, something about the picture unsettled me. It made me start to once again question the true motives behind the unexpected adoption (not for the first time, mind you). Not very many parents who were right in the head would willingly adopt the killer of their son. Not unless they had plans.

"C'mon," Claire urged, interrupting my thoughts. Tearing my gaze away from the photo, I began following her once again.

"I didn't need your charity back there, by the way." Claire told me, her voice hard.

"Excuse me?" I asked, unsure of whether I had heard her correctly.

"In the dining room, when Julie was criticizing my salmon," Claire continued, "you didn't need to interfere. Look, Ponyboy, Julie is a bitch, and she always has something to say about my cooking. Tonight, I overcooked the food on purpose just to bug her. I'm completely used to her comments, and I could care less what she has to say. You coming to my defense did nothing but make me look weak."

"Well maybe _I_ don't need your charity right now." I snapped. Who did this girl think she was? What I had done back in the dining room had been a _favor_. Without my intervention, Mrs. Sheldon would have ripped Claire apart until there was nothing left. I thought she would at least be thankful, if not throwing herself into my arms, begging for my love. Claire scoffed.

"Yes you do." She retorted. "You'd never find your room on your own. You were wandering into the _laundry room_ when I found you." I reddened.

"I was _exploring_." I snapped, "And you interrupted. Thanks a lot." Claire narrowed her eyes.

"You're more immature than I expected." She observed.

"And you're more annoying than I expected." I answered. I decided I would rather take my chances in the dark than spend any more time with Claire.

"I guess we're funny that way." Claire said, grinning at me. Her teeth flashed, and my heart skipped a beat.

"Why didn't you say anything back in the dining room when Julie was yelling at you?" I asked Claire curiously. "You appeared to be bothered by it because of the way you were fiddling with your apron, but you did nothing. How come?"

Claire shrugged. "To give her satisfaction, I guess." She replied at last.

"That is the last thing that bitch needs." I said. Claire narrowed her eyes.

"What?" I asked, confused as to what it was I did that made her unhappy.

"It's only okay if I call her that." She told me sternly, "You have no place calling your guardian and mistress such obscene names." I narrowed my eyes, taken aback at Claire's sudden mood change. Wasn't _she_ the one who had insulted Mrs. Sheldon first? I only did it because I thought it was something that Claire thought was alright. Apparently not. Feeling rather foolish, I quickly looked for a way to change the topic.

"She's not your guardian as well?" I asked Claire, who shook her head.

"Not exactly," she said, "My family moved here from Canada a few years ago, and I began living with the Sheldons to make money after…" She stopped suddenly; as if she didn't want to continue for fear that she might give too much away. "After we ran out of money." She finished after a while. I shook my head in disbelief. Here I was, an orphan who was wearing a ratty, old denim jacket and t-shirt…a _Greaser_, and Claire was embarrassed to admit to me that she was poor. I scoffed. Claire noticed this.

"What?" She asked, raising an eyebrow. This somehow managed to make her look cuter. My ears grew hot, and I looked down.

"Nothing," I said, "It's just that…You don't have to be embarrassed about being poor, you know. I'm not exactly a king either." Claire laughed softly to herself.

"That's not…" She began, but stopped herself. Instead, she went on to talk about Canada.

I wasn't entirely sure why Claire found it necessary to mention she was from Canada. I figured she had her reasons, so I went on talking.

"You know," I said, "I've never been to Canada."

"Good for you." Claire told me, untying her apron as we walked. Not exactly the comeback I was looking for, but I still did my best to carry out the conversation.

"Should I consider myself lucky that I've never been?" I asked. Claire, giving up trying to untie the knotted strings of her apron, shook her head.

"Of course not," she gasped, "Canada is wonderful. I wish to go back someday. I need to continue my work here, of course, until I can afford to travel…But yes, Canada is lovely." She sighed, as if deep in thought. Delighted at the fact that I had discovered a way to make Claire happy, I almost didn't notice that we had come to another set of stairs. Claire grinned as I saved myself from tripping over the bottom stair.

"Are you always this clumsy?" She asked, clearly expecting me to answer.

"Are you always this vexing?" I shot back. Claire rolled her eyes.

"Only when necessary." She replied. "Anyway, I'm going to leave now. This is about the time that Julie and Rob come to dress for bed, and if they come up to find that I'm not in my room, and that their beds aren't ready, then they'll surely be angry and suspicious. Your room at the top of these stairs, the first door to the left. I trust you don't need my help finding it. Goodnight, Ponyboy." She smiled. "It was nice to meet you."

"You too," I replied breathlessly. I was secretly a little disappointed that the tour was over. There was so much more that I wanted to talk to Claire about. "Maybe we could do this again sometime?"

"You mean me walking you to your room? Ponyboy, if you can't find it again after this, then there's something wrong-"

"No," I said, "I mean talking…me and you. It was nice getting to know you, and I don't think I've seen all that this house has to offer. So, what do you say? Maybe you could finish your tour tomorrow, and tell me more about what Canada was like."

"I don't know, Ponyboy," Claire sighed, "I mean, I can't exactly skip work or Julie will have my head. And you have unpacking to do, don't you?"

"One lousy suitcase," I argued. Claire ran a hand through her curls. A nervous habit, I supposed. Damn. Everything about her was so _perfect_. Most girls I knew did something completely commonplace when they were nervous like biting their nails, or shuffling their feet, but somehow, Claire managed to make something as petty as _nervousness _look sexy. I sighed.

"Promise me you'll at least _try_ to find a hole in your oh-so-busy schedule tomorrow to show me around?" I asked, hoping that my tone contained the right amount of playfulness without coming across as too flirtatious or beseeching. Claire raised an eyebrow.

"We'll see," she told me, "Now, I really must go. Goodnight." As she turned around to leave, I noticed that her apron strings were still done up. I remembered how she had been struggling to undo them, and with that image still in my head, I called after her.

"Claire, wait!" I called. She turned around.

"What?" she asked.

"You still haven't untied your apron." I told her, feeling foolish. Claire's hand went to where the knot of strings rested on her back. She sighed.

"I know," she said, "I can never get them. I'll have to ask Julie to undo them for me. Thanks, Ponyboy." She turned to leave once more.

"I could untie them for you." I offered. Claire looked at me, and I swear I saw her face redden ever so slightly. Maybe it was my imagination. I certainly hoped not.

"No, it's fine, really," Claire said in a rush, "I can honestly just get Julie to untie them for me."

"Oh, c'mon," I laughed, "I've got to be more pleasant than _Julie_, for God's sake. Come here." I held out my hand, signaling for her to come. Maybe I was going a bit too far, but I knew for a fact that if Two-Bit or Steve had been here, they'd have been proud of me. Claire hesitated for a second before taking a few wary steps in my direction.

"Now turn around." I ordered as soon as she was close enough. She did as she was told, and I reached forward and grabbed hold of the mass of knotted fabric. The knot rested just so that it touched the small of her back, and Claire shivered slightly at my touch. I noted this happily as my fingers worked to undo the knot. It was tricky, I'll admit, but after a while (and a broken fingernail), it finally came lose, and I undid her apron with a mind full of satisfaction and a finger full of pain. I spun Claire around.

"There," I told her, "Not so bad."

"Thanks," Claire responded, not meeting my eyes, "Now, I really should be going."

"'Thanks'" I asked in disbelief, "That's all I get for my efforts? A mere expression of gratitude? I expect more for my heroic deed."

"You untied a lousy apron string." Claire said flatly, "Anyone could have done it. And it was hardly what I'd call heroic."

"Hey, I saved you from the wrath of the beast that is Julie Sheldon," I protested mischievously, "And I think that doing so deserves something else."

"What did you expect?"

"Oh, I dunno…maybe…_this_." I reached forward and tucked a strand of Claire's hair behind her ear. I came to the conclusion that I had absolutely no clue what I was about to do, but nevertheless, I bent forward and-

"What the hell is wrong with you?" Claire demanded sharply, her eyes flashing

"Jesus, I was just kidding." I told her, straightening up, and raising my hands in the air to emphasise my innocence. Didn't this girl know how to take a joke? Even so, I mentally scolded myself for acting like a total creep. I wasn't even really sure what I had planned to do if I actually _had_ kissed Claire. We only met today, and barely knew each other. "But you have to admit, it would have been one hell of a thank-you."

"You're letting triumph speak for you." Claire told me flatly. But even so, my words must have had _some _effect on her, as I saw her blush as she turned away. And I'm probably sure that our faces were the same shade of red as we walked away from each other—making our way in opposite directions until morning came to reunite us.

ooOO88OOoo

Remember how I kept mentioning how incredibly huge the Sheldons' home was, and how I was sure I was going to get lost in it within the first few hours? Well, it turns out I spoke too soon. I realized this as soon as I saw my bedroom. One might even go so far as to call it an apartment. Alright, maybe it wasn't quite that large, but you get the idea. Now, as I lay in my bed, examining the ceiling, I realized that maybe having an abnormally-large bedroom all to yourself when you're only fourteen years old isn't a good thing. Back home, I shared a room with Sodapop, and after all those years of sleeping with him on that lousy, old couch, being forced to adjust to a giant four-posted bed was not easy. I missed having Sodapop beside me, annoyingly snoring in my ear just as I was about to fall asleep. I didn't like the seemingly-eerie silence that surrounded me as I lay there, threatening to swallow me whole.

Not to mention, the bed felt so…_big_. It was practically double the size of the one Soda and I shared back home, and try as I might, I just couldn't get used to the fact that for once in my entire life, I was completely and utterly alone.

Now, normally, one would _want_ to be alone in their room when they were attempting to fall asleep, but let me tell you, I didn't. I was cold, confused, angry, and every other emotion the human being was capable of feeling, all at once. I was even a little _scared_. I was never scared around Soda. I knew what do to.

Carefully, I slipped out of bed, inhaling sharply when my bare feet met the cold hardwood floor. I spent a few minutes afterwards fumbling around in the dark looking for my socks, but gave up when I couldn't find them. I thought about turning on the light, but then there was the risk of one of the Sheldons seeing, and I shuddered thinking about what they'd do. Besides, my feet would be warm in a couple minutes.

I made my way across my room as quietly as I could. However, try as I might to be quiet, the room was still incredibly new to me, so naturally, some tables were bumped into, floorboards creaked under my weight, and I even managed to trip over a rug placed inconveniently in the centre of the room. Eventually, I made it to the door, and placed my hand on the doorknob thoughtfully. If I _did_ manage to open the door quietly without catching any unwanted attention, then what was it that I planned to do next? By now, I fully realized that I had no clue where Soda's room was, and that the dead of night was not the ideal time for exploring. I sighed. Then I took my hand off the doorknob. And after mentally promising myself that I would explore every inch of the house in the morning, I began the perilous hike back to my bed. Once there, I lay in the dark, staring at the ceiling. I began counting the hours left until morning. And as I slowly drifted off to sleep, my mind began wandering until my thoughts were altered entirely to a girl with blonde curls that wouldn't stay tucked behind her ears.

**Okay, well, this is the end of the chapter. What do you think of Claire, my new addition to the line of characters? I have big plans for later on in the story involving her, so I'm excited that I finally introduced her. Please review, and let me know if there is anything particularly nasty that you want the Sheldons to do to Pony and Soda later on because I'm officially going to start including angst in future chapters! Is it wrong to say I'm looking forward to it? So, if there's something you really want to happen, just PM me, or leave your suggestions in the comments. Thanks, everyone!**


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